


Realisation

by bowieboosh



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Complete, I love my supernatural idiots, M/M, Post-Series, Rated T for two whole swears, Realisations, but not for long, oblivious idiots, tropetastic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 11:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19393177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowieboosh/pseuds/bowieboosh
Summary: In which Aziraphale realises something that he really should've realised earlier.





	1. Chapter 1

He should have realised earlier. In that moment, that single, still moment, in which time seemed to slow to an imperceptible pace, that was the loudest thought in his head. He should have realised earlier. 

It was not, of course, the only thought in his head. Aziraphale was many things, but very rarely was he single-minded. Behind the blaring sensation of utter stupidity were memories, each pushing forward to make its point like a man who had not caught on to the fact that said point was neither asked for nor appreciated. Memories of each instance which should have made him see, each one which now, in the new light of realisation, made Aziraphale feel a downright fool.

The Garden. Even then, he should have seen it. But no, he was too busy being caught up in his worry that he’d done the wrong thing by giving the humans his flaming sword. So when he finally admitted what he’d done, when Crowley had looked at him like that, Aziraphale had explained away his strange expression as being delight at seeing an angel do something that he perhaps shouldn’t have, demonic pleasure at seeing his adversary stumble. If there was a hint of admiration in his eyes, well, if it turned out that giving away the sword was the wrong thing to do, of course Crowley would admire that. He was a demon, rebellion against Heaven was what made him what he was. Why wouldn’t he delight to see Aziraphale follow in his footsteps, however unintentionally? 

The Flood. The awful, terrible Flood, which often crept unbidden into Aziraphale’s mind, wrapping him up in guilt until he could barely breathe. He had followed his orders, defended them even. He had seen what atrocities could come about from men following their orders. But no matter how he wished otherwise, he had followed his orders, insisting to Crowley that it was all part of the Plan. Crowley…Crowley had seemed appalled. A demon, who by definition should have had the more skewed moral compass of the two of them, was appalled by what Aziraphale was complicit in. Aziraphale hadn’t liked it – he had been unable to look at Crowley, his lips set in a tense line – but it was Crowley, not him, who had objected. Crowley who had asked, aghast, if even the children were to die. Crowley who had cared more about them than about any Plan, be it Great, or Ineffable, or otherwise.

The end of the bloody world. How could he have been so dense? Armageddon’t, as Crowley had taken to calling it, should have made it so obvious. True, there was a defence to be made about the fact that the world ending (or, as it turned out, nearly ending) was rather distracting, and it could be argued that Aziraphale’s obliviousness could be forgiven, given the circumstances, but still. He’d believed Crowley’s half-truths, accepted the smokescreen. He didn’t doubt that the demon didn’t want to return to Hell, even his brief visit made him acutely aware of how awful the place was, but there was more to it than that. Crowley’s interest in avoiding the apocalypse wasn’t as wholly self-serving as he endeavoured to make it appear. He was the same demon, the same one who had looked at Aziraphale, even as he couldn’t bear to look back at him, and had asked if even the children were to drown. Aziraphale should have seen it, in the Garden and at the Flood and during the apocalypse and a million other times, he should have seen it over and over again in the millennia they’d shared, and yet he’d been utterly oblivious. Crowley cared, he really, truly, cared for humanity.

That realisation struck him, leaving him stunned but in a delightfully pleasant way, a sort of warmth that spread through him. He thought it best not to mention his little epiphany to Crowley, on account of his general aversion to appearing in any way nice or kind, and his continued preservation of the ‘self-serving demon’ façade. Last time Aziraphale had dared say that he might be nice, Crowley had reacted rather poorly, so it seemed wise to keep quiet about his discovery of the demon’s affection for the human race.

But it was the realisation that followed, an embarrassingly long time later, that made him feel like he’d, to borrow a human expression, had the wind knocked out of him. Realising that Crowley cared so deeply for humanity was a crucial piece of the puzzle of course, but it took a long time to fall into place. Well, that was to be expected of a piece in a puzzle that a person (or, in this case, an angel) didn’t even realise he was solving. But after some time, fall into place it did. They had been sitting quite casually, enjoying a bottle of wine in the back of the bookshop, when the revelation had hit him, and the world had stilled, and his mind had been filled with the thought that he should have realised sooner.

He looked Crowley, who hadn’t noticed his sudden stillness, his back to Aziraphale as he turned over the record. His breath caught, his mouth open, his arm frozen in place with his glass halfway to his lips. The moment seemed to stretch endlessly, the world frozen in time, until Aziraphale spoke so softly and with such reverence that he was indistinguishable from the pilgrims whose prayers he had heard, the single word seeming to come from his very soul.

‘ _Raphael_ ’

In any other situation, it would have been almost comical. The way Crowley’s back stiffened suddenly from his comfortable slouch, the way he straightened but didn’t turn around. The affectedly casual way he half-turned his head, not looking at Aziraphale, as he spoke.  
‘Did you say something, angel?’ He didn’t wait for a reply. ‘I just noticed there’s a scratch on this side of the record, wouldn’t be right to play it in this condition. I’ll see if I can get another copy, we can finish this some other time’ 

But no, wait, this wasn’t supposed to happen - Crowley was striding towards the door of the bookshop, still not looking at him. Desperately, Aziraphale reached out, grasping Crowley’s hand in both of his as he extended an arm to pick up his coat as he left. Crowley tugged at his hand, but Aziraphale held fast, looking pleadingly up at him.  
‘I…I don’t understand,’ His voice was small, not the same kind of gentle softness it had been, but confused and meek, like a child saddened by something their parent had done but nervous to question them. Crowley’s head remained steadfastly turned away, and Aziraphale tried again. ‘You are, I mean, you were, I mean, I-’ He grasped more tightly to Crowley’s hand as he tried to form a coherent thought. ‘You’re Raphael.’  
‘No.’ The reply was short as Crowley pulled his hand away. He didn’t risk reaching out for his coat again, turning and striding towards the door, still not looking at Aziraphale. The angel called out to him as the door swung open, but by the time he reached the doorway, looking around at streets spattered with rain he hadn’t realised was falling, Crowley was nowhere to be seen.


	2. Chapter 2

He stood at the door, trying to stop wringing his hands, trying to look less anxious than he felt. If Crowley could see him, he’d make some chiding comment with no real sting about how he ought to stop fidgeting. But Crowley couldn’t see him. Because Aziraphale was standing outside the front door of Crowley’s flat. Which Crowley was inside. 

Oh, for pity’s sake, he was an angel! He’d helped avert the apocalypse! He’d quite literally been to Hell and back! Shouldn’t he have a little more courage? He shook his head slightly and steeled himself, reaching a hand out to the doorbell.   
‘Are you going to stand there all day?’ Aziraphale jumped slightly as the door swung open to reveal Crowley, one eyebrow raised as he scowled. ‘You’ve been stood there for nearly half an hour. I was starting to think you’d been replaced by a cardboard cut-out, but a cardboard cut-out couldn’t fret like that.’  
‘I brought you your coat’ Aziraphale thrust out the arm over which the coat hung, ‘You left it at the shop, when you-’ He cut himself off, paused. ‘You left it at the shop.’ He repeated, arm still thrust out. A long moment stretched between them as Crowley looked at him with an expression that Aziraphale couldn’t quite make out with his eyes hidden behind the sunglasses. After what felt like an age, Crowley looked away, grabbing the coat from Aziraphale’s arm as he turned and stalked inside. Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do – he hadn’t been invited in, but Crowley hadn’t closed the door behind him, so was he meant to leave, or to follow him inside? He dithered for a moment, hoping Crowley would call back to him, invite him in, but no. But even knowing that to do otherwise could be a highly impolite imposition, Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to turn and leave. If he left now, who was to say when he’d next see Crowley? The thought of spending another century apart was too much for him to bear, so he took a deep breath, straightened his back, and stepped through the doorway.

Crowley was sitting with his back to Aziraphale, and something in the angel twisted at the thought that he could no longer bear to even look at him. It twisted further when he saw the bottles littered around the chair, guilt rising in his throat. What had he done to his dear demon? 

‘Crowley, I…I want to apologise. I didn’t think it would upset you, I mean, that is to say, I didn’t think. I just, when I realised, it made so much sense, I felt like such a fool for not seeing it earlier. You’ve always been so flippant about the Fall, you said you just fell in with the wrong crowd, but Crowley, oh,’ His breath caught as his throat seemed to tighten. ‘That wasn’t it at all. You cared, Crowley, you cared so much that you gave up everything. I admire you, I really do – time and again I stood by and did as I was told because it was all part of the Plan, but you cared about the humans so much that you refused to follow your orders and you Fell, all because you didn’t want to hurt them. I wish I’d had your courage, your character. The angel that cared so much for humanity that he Fell for them, the only demon to truly care for humankind, of course you’re one and the same. I should have seen it sooner, but you are, you’re Raphael.’

‘No’ He choked out. He still didn’t look at Aziraphale, even as he continued. ‘No, I’m not. I Fell, angel, you don’t know what that’s like. I Fell, and everything that was him, everything that was before, it all burned away. I burned and I burned, and when it finally stopped, I wasn’t him, not anymore. I’m not an angel, there’s none of that left in me. I’m sorry that I can’t be who you want me to be, I’m sorry that I’m not him, but I’m not. I’m me, I’m a demon, and that’s all I can be.’ He finally turned to Aziraphale, but his head stayed bent, his eyes fixed resolutely on the ground. ‘I know you must be disappointed, but I can’t be him, not even for you.’

‘Crowley’ His voice was soft, and Crowley wanted to look up, wanted to hope, but he couldn’t. Before last night, he’d dared to hope, and it had been ripped away from him with a single word from Aziraphale’s perfect lips. ‘Crowley, my dear, no. What I said, I didn’t mean that you should change. When I said…I didn’t mean anything, I didn’t think, I just got caught up in putting the pieces together. I was so caught up in the realisation, I didn’t stop to think about how it might come across. I didn’t think about how you’d feel. I’m so sorry, Crowley.’  
‘Well, sorry is all well and good,’ He spat back bitterly, ‘but I still can’t be him. Well done, you solved the puzzle! Top marks, but I can’t be an angel, not now. I’m not him, and I never will be.’  
‘Good.’ Aziraphale’s voice seemed halfway between affection and exasperated frustration. ‘Crowley, I told you, I didn’t mean that you should change. I don’t want you to be something you’re not. I don’t want you to be an angel, Crowley. I want you to be _you_.’  
‘Angel, you’re very sweet and all, but come off it. Of course you’d want me if I were an angel, I-’  
‘Want you?’ Oh shit. He hadn’t meant to say that. That wasn’t supposed to go from in his head to out his mouth. Shit. Maybe this level of wine was actually a bad idea.   
‘Slip of the tongue, obviously I don’t mean-’  
‘Crowley. Crowley, dear boy, are you really so blind?’ Well, first of all, rude. But no, Aziraphale couldn’t be saying what he seemed to be saying. Crowley wouldn’t let himself consider it. Because if he did, then he’d start hoping, and that was dangerous. But he’d become comfortable with Aziraphale, he’d become soft, and so his heart betrayed him, a seed of hope worming its way in where it wasn’t welcome. ‘My dear, if you think that I’d only want you if you were an angel, you’ve been really rather unobservant these past six thousand years or so. I want you as you are, I want the demon I fell in love with.’  
‘Love?’ He sounded so small, a pathetic excuse for a demon. But it was all he could manage as the seed began to unfurl into a tiny, fragile flower. Aziraphale smiled at him and oh, the things he would do for that smile. Crowley would drown himself in Holy Water for just a moment of that tender warmth.  
‘Of course, Crowley, darling. I’ve been quite in love with you for some time now. I rather thought you would have noticed earlier.’  
‘But you can’t, that’s not possible, you can’t be’  
‘And yet I am’  
‘But, but what about Alpha Centauri? I asked you to run away with me, I asked you twice, but you wouldn’t, you said no’  
‘Crowley, could you imagine spending eternity with no-one for company except the person you were in love with who didn’t love you back?’  
‘Of course I bloody can! I was asking you to run away with me, wasn’t I? I can’t just imagine it, I was literally asking for it!’ There was a pause after the outburst in which the two looked at each other, realisation dawning on their faces. 

‘You were’  
‘Yes’  
‘And I was’  
‘Yes’  
‘And you still are’  
‘Yes’  
‘So all this time we’ve been’  
‘Yes’  
‘And we could’ve been’  
‘Yes’  
‘Oh.’  
‘‘Oh’ indeed.’ Another pause. Another silence stretched between them. Aziraphale was the first to break it. ‘Crowley, my dear, I think we’ve both been rather foolish.’  
‘Idiots. Complete idiots.’  
‘Now that we’re…not being idiots, do you think that we might start afresh? Since we’re both on the same page now.’  
‘Yeah, I think that might be an idea.’  
‘Crowley?’ He looked up from where he’d been staring into the distance as he processed his obliviousness. ‘Might I take you to dinner?’  
‘Dinner?’  
‘It seems to be what the humans do when they…when they’re courting. It does seem the usual thing to court before falling in love with someone, to sort of help the process along, but, well, it seems a good place to start.’

The flower in Crowley’s heart bloomed, tall and proud and thriving. ‘Dinner would be lovely, angel.’


End file.
